


seen you with the lights off

by olavidalo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Cisswap, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Powerplay, always a girl!zayn, flippant allusions to Irish republicanism, lack of negotiation, negotiated infidelity, now with actual formatting, random anti-Yorkshire hostility?, rarely a girl!other minor characters, tonal shift, weird consent in general, which really doesn't make sense considering Bradford's in Yorkshire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olavidalo/pseuds/olavidalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuckin' breakups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seen you with the lights off

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to just be Zarry-centric OT5 powerplay but then ~misunderstandings~ Anyway: All lies; unbeta'ed, unbritpicked lies. (Also I thought Josh was their guitarist whatever I don't read his twitter and I don't know his life)

_I feel like I can't trust you anymore._

* * *

 

'Penalty,' announces Harry, throwing down his hand. 'I saw you peeking, c'mere.'  
'You always call penalties on me,' sulks Zayn. She doesn't feel like moving. Harry just lifts her bodily into his lap. Show-off, she thinks, trying to hide her blush in his neck.  
'It's because you're easy,' he murmurs, sweetly, kissing her shoulder until she turns to the side and lets him in.  
Of course the minute Zayn really starts to get into it, hands going slack till her cards fall between them, Harry gets distracted by Lou in the other room -- 'What an iiiinteresting text message you've received!' -- and pushes her to the side.  
  
'Later,' he promises.  
  
'I've been abandoned,' Zayn says bleakly, flopping loosely back onto the couch. Her lips feel tender. She hasn't been fucked proper since--well, Harry doesn't count, so, not since Perry. And that was almost _two_ weeks ago.  
Niall pats her accomodatingly on the hip, darts in for a quick kiss on the cheek. 'S'no big,' he says. When he goes to lean back, she tugs on his shirt.  
'Ni-yuhl,' she whispers, rounding her eyes hugely. There's no better time to take advantage of his being a soft touch than when she's wired up. Niall goes flush across his nose and cheeks, pauses FIFA, and drops the controller.  
  
He's a good kisser, Zayn thinks, letting him roll on top of her. Good at the lead-in, not too much tongue. You'd think he'd be, ah, sloppy or something because he never--never calls penalties, but he's--um. um, he's actually quite-- _Jesusf_ \--  
'--uck,' she moans, before she can stop herself. Embarrassed, she pulls back.  
'Uh,' she says, because her brain is currently somewhere around her hipbone, where Niall's thumb is digging in. 'Um. Thanks. Bro.'  
Keep it cool, she thinks, and gives him a matey caress on the shoulder.  
'Yup,' Niall says, pulling back. He's got a pretty funny look on his face. Zayn can't quite gather the breath to laugh at him, just sits up alongside him and scoots into his side. He picks the controller back up, unpauses the game, keeps playing. And though he gets steadily redder, he refuses to look at her.  
  
She wonders who his arrangement's with.  
  
'You're a good lad, Nially,' she says, instead of asking, and peppers his forehead with overloud kisses until Liam wakes up and starts shouting at them both.  
  
Anyway. Fuck Harry.  
  
'I'm not _easy_ ,' she insists, with a wet pop, three hours later. She's still thinking about it. Like, there was Danny, sort of, then Raul, then Solita, then the almost disaster that was Christopher Riley, then Perry until they went on break, then Jamie and Kevin, then Lauren, then whatshisface the club guy, then Perry again and--fuck, what if they think she _is_ a slag? Doniya used to say that guys thinking you were a slag was worse than actually being one. No one would ever take you seriously after that.  
'Of course you're not,' says Harry, unclenching his fists from her hair with apparent difficulty. 'Who said you were, I'll kill them.'  
'You did, mate,' says Zayn, running her tongue over the head of his cock accusingly. And possibly teasingly.  
'Did I,' Harry exhales sharply through his nostrils. 'I'll kill myself after this blowjob, then.'  
'Ahh, brmm-mhh?' Zayn asks. Fair's fair. She's already come twice anyway.  
  
'Yea, yea, promise,' he breathes, yanking her forward by her hair, which-- _ow_ , hurts like fuck, but he likes it, likes it when she has to stretch her jaw too-wide to take him in, likes it when she has to scramble to keep up. A minute or more of sucking and then she starts using her teeth a bit, because Harry's weird and can't really come unless there's pain involved.  
'Zayn,' he says, tensely, 'I'm--'  
  
\--yea, yea, this is where she pulls back so he can come on her face. There's quite a lot of it. She laughs, closemouthed, feeling a bit ridiculous. A little bit of come gets in her nose anyway, because Harry's a prick with terrible aim.  
'You need to work on your aim,' she rasps, getting to her feet.  
Harry grabs her by the hips when her knees almost buckle. Fuckin' vertigo.  
'Sure, yea,' he says, kissing her once, then again. He makes the same weird face he always does at the taste of himself: grossed out but intrigued, kind of. 'Let's get you cleaned up.'  
  
'I was thinking,' she says, working up a lather on his scalp, later, in the shower, 'I haven't had a night out in a while. Not since--'  
'-- _Jeffrey_ ,' says Harry darkly. Trust Harry to remember a minor detail like club guy's name.  
'Not since Jeffrey, right,' says Zayn, forgetting his name immediately. 'Anyway, I think it's time I, you know, got back in the saddle.'  
  
Harry pauses, turns around, blinks against the spray of the water. 'Back in the saddle,' he repeats, blankly. 'I thought you and I were both--saddled up.'  
'This is cheating,' she says, reaching behind him to turn off the water. No need to waste hot water. 'This is just a casual, mutually beneficial arrangement brought about by--laziness and, and--'  
'Horniness, yea, I remember what I said,' says Harry, distractedly, 'Zayn, just to clarify: are you breaking up with me in my shower?' Zayn leans up to kiss him.  
  
'I think we should fuck other people,' she says, gently, because Perry was the teensiest bit right, possibly. There are arrangements and then there's _this_ and--whatever, she's just been leaning too hard on Harry lately.  
Harry drops his head onto her shoulder and slouches over. 'Does this mean no more penalty kisses?' he asks, feebly.  
  
'What, no, of course not,' she says, trying to keep them both upright when he goes a bit slack against her. 'That's an, an integral part of--stand up Harry, god!--inter-band unity.'  
Harry straightens with a bright smile, shakes the water out of his curls like an overgrown dog. It's not charming. 'I can work with that,' he says, then gives her kiss to rival Niall's.  
  
Not that she's been thinking about Niall's kisses. Overmuch.

 

* * *

 

Three days later and Niall still hasn't called any penalties on her. Apparently he's not been thinking about her kisses either.  
  
'So when you said we should fuck other people,' Harry whispers, coming up behind her during Liam's final solo, 'were you thinking about Niall?' Ha, Harry with Niall. Now there's a thought.  
'Mm, don't think you're his type, mate,' Zayn says, under the fresh wave of screams that spreads through the crowd. Niall's currently imitating Louis imitating Scotia's guitar solo. Zayn wonders if his arrangement's with Scotia. She's cute, good kisser. Fun.  
  
'I meant you, idiot,' Harry says, wrapping his arms around her waist. A girl near the front with Zayn's face on her shirt starts sobbing outright. Fuckin' Harry.  
'Aw, look what you've done,' Zayn says, pushing him back with her elbow. She walks towards the girl with a big smile but only has time enough to mime wiping away tears before Harry's crowding her towards the centre of the stage, where the rest of them are gathered for closing remarks.  
  
Liam slings his arm around her neck, pulls her head against his. You can tell where the Liam girls are based on where the screams of horror come from.  
'--and it's always been a dream of ours to be here, with you all,' Louis's saying, laughing a bit when Niall nudges him in the hip.  
'You weren't paying attention during my solo,' Liam mumbles. 'I was pretending to sing at you but you were all loved up on Harry.'  
Harry grumbles something under his breath, folding his arms. And people complain about Zayn's mood swings.  
  
'Ooh, is Liam finally taking a penalty?' Louis asks, to the side. Niall's talking now. He's also listening. Zayn can tell by the way he's tilting his head.  
'You gu-u-uys,' Liam says warningly. Even though Dani's had a penalty kiss (or five) off Zayn, Liam's still so very prim about it all. It's proper sweet.  
'So forfeit it,' says Harry, finally deigning to join the conversation. 'You can't call it and then not take it.'  
'I didn't even call it!' says Liam, pulling Zayn a little further back against him, then letting her go.  
  
'I'm calling it, then,' says Louis, shoving up against Harry as he recovers from a dizzying-looking bow. Niall glances back mid-sentence, clearly surprised. Eleanor always takes Louis's penalty kisses. She didn't come with them to Sheffield, though, and Zayn doesn't really feel up to having a Skype three-way tonight.  
'Forfeit,' Louis says quickly, under their stares. 'Of course I forfeit it, I'm not an idiot, thank you!'  
Zayn grins, feeling full-up with love as she throws kisses back at the roaring crowd. Harry catches one and blows it back. Zayn laughs. Who needs a boyfriend when you've got your bandmates? Even though Perry is--had been, even though Perry _had_ been--  
  
brilliant, really.  
   
Well. Fuck him for not wanting her anymore.  
  
The lights dim, then, and she's got a quick moment to compose herself.  
'So who'll have me,' she says, lightly, slinging an arm around Harry's waist. It's basically a rhetorical question. Louis can't, Liam won't, and Niall doesn't. So. Harry it is, then. Harry squeezes her hip, tight, and she feels a little bit--not not up for it, exactly, she's generally always up for it, but it always feels like a _thing_ with Harry. And she's a bit too tired for him tonight. Especially if they're going clubbing first.  
  
'Think I will,' says Niall, in front of her so suddenly she stumbles a bit. In the brief backstage darkness, it takes a bit for him to find her lips--he actually kisses her nose first--but when he does, the kissing is so slow, so unrushed, she can't help but think of Perry, how he would stroke her hair whenever they were alone, kiss her behind her ear. 'It's alright,' Harry's saying, hand now up near her ribs, holding her through it, but it's over. The kiss, everything, it's all over.  
  
The throbbing roar of the crowd behind them registers.  
Zayn opens her eyes. Paula and the rest of them are staring at her. Ugh. She can feel a sympathy headache coming on.  
'Alright?' Louis asks, gently pushing Niall aside.  
  
Sometimes she hates being surrounded by boys all the time. So often they make her feel guilty about just feeling fucking awful.  
But the lads don't deserve that, not tonight, not after they smashed it out there.  
'I'm fine,' she laughs, shrugging them all off, standing off near Paula. 'Think I'll pass on the club after all, actually.'  
'Uh, me, too, I think,' offers Liam, even though he was planning on meeting up with Andy later. Clearly he wants to talk.  
'No, go on,' she says, a bit snappish, wanting out of the conversation, out of her sweaty clothes, out of this stupid fucking place. Liam sort of wiltingly nods.  
She tries for a smile. 'Really, Paula here'll take care of me, don't worry.'  
  
Paula nods promptly. 'Us girlies must stick together,' she says, an old joke, as if she's not a better bodyguard than Ibrahim and Johnny combined.  
'But,' Liam starts, because none of them'll leave anyfuckingthing be. Worse than her sisters sometimes.  
Anita chooses that moment to step in. 'Come on, then, lads, we'll be needing those clothes,' she says, tapping them down briskly. Then, with a tip of her head to Zayn, she adds: 'I'll get yours later, alright, love?'  
  
''Kay,' Zayn says, slumping a bit against Paula. She wouldn't usually -- and Paula wouldn't let her, usually -- but she's just so tired all of a sudden. She just wants to be alone. Niall gives her a quick smile before being ushered towards the changing room.  
  
She almost wishes he'd offered to stay behind.  
  
 _penalty!!_ , says her phone, in the van, later. From _Wifey_ , of course. She gets another one while she's still trying to come up with a response. _you lied :( :(_  
  
Fuckin' Harry. You weren't supposed to call penalties for big things. She wipes away a tear, then another. Fuck Harry, fuck Niall and his stupid fucking penalty kisses, fuck Perry, fuck it all.  
'I will never love again,' she vows.  
'Sure, okay,' Paula says, shrugging, and pats her on the head.  
  
If it only it were so easy, Zayn thinks miserably.

 

* * *

_Bzzz_. Ugh.

'Don't feel like talking, mate,' says Zayn, answering her phone without looking. Probably Liam, checking up on her. Like some kid.  
'And here I was thinking that you must be missing me something terrible,' says a voice that is absolutely not Liam's.  
Zayn rolls upright quickly. Perry. 'Sorry, who's this?,' she says, as primly as she can manage, 'I think you've got the wrong number.'  
' _Zayn_ ,' says Perry. He's got a tone.  
' _Perry_ ,' Zayn mimics. She clears her throat; time to be the cool, understanding ex. 'You sound well. Must be goin' great with Leigh-Anne, huh.'  
  
\--Or she could be the jealous, passive aggressive ex, whatever. 'I dunno,' says Perry, 'you'd have to ask Jordan about that.' Sounds like he's grinning. (Arse.)  
Which is well coy and all but Zayn's seen the interviews: she's not an idiot. She pulls a massive pillow over her chest so her voice is a bit muffled.  
'You'd be happier with her, you know.' Leigh-Anne'd probably be a lot happier with him. She's not going to tell him that, though. Somewhere along the way, back when he and Zayn were still 'just friends,' Perry'd convinced himself that his feelings for Leigh-Anne were one-sided. And, well. Zayn wasn't going to be the one to make him budge. Not tonight anyway.  
  
'Eh, don't shit where you eat,' Perry says, vaguely, as he always does. She can easily track where this is going to go next. 'So to you. Cleared up things with Harry yet?'  
'Yea, yea. M'explo-o-oring my options.' Which are proper nil at the mo. She sighs, squeezes the pillow closer. 'He called me easy.'  
Perry doesn't say anything.  
'Wow, fuck you, too, mate,' she laughs. You'd think she would've gotten out of the habit of being hurt by him after he'd finally dumped her. 'Sorry I'm not perfect like your little peacock.'  
'Leigh-Anne isn't perfect,' he says, in a much quieter voice, like he's saying the direct opposite.  
'Guess I'll say no comment and leave it at that, yea?' sighs Zayn.  
Perry sighs a little, too.  
  
In the background, Zayn can hear the open echo of the late night news on the telly. Perry's alone in his hotel room, too. Maybe he's staying on the line because he's caught between wanting to talk and wanting to be alone. Maybe--  
The crumple of plastic comes loud and clear over the line.  
\--Maybe he's too busy _cheating_ his diet to notice that neither of them have spoken for the past three minutes. Perry's always been rather intense about his food.  
'Perry,' she says, flat, 'you eatin' Cheez Fluffs?'  
  
A pause, followed by a guilty crunch. Zayn settles back onto the bed for a more comfortable position. 'I'm disappointed in you, Mr Edwards. What d'you think your nutritionist'd say?'  
'What she doesn't know can't hurt her,' Perry says carefully, mouth full, and then seems to choke on a Fluff. 'Oh my god, I'm dying,' he coughs, 'Zayn, I'm dying, why are you _laughing_ at me?'  
'I'm not laughing at you,' she says, laughing at him.  
  
And then it's easy again, suddenly. After gulping down what sounds like a gallon of water, Perry narrates the telly for her ('Apparently this octopus broke free from the zoo. Do you ever think, like. Maybe we're the octopuses?'), unnecessarily mentions Leigh-Anne five times, and complains about having to get up early even though he refuses to go to sleep.

Almost like old times, Zayn thinks, not so near sleep that the thought doesn't twinge.

'You know,' says Perry, during the next series of adverts, 'if you're so worried about being a slag, why don't you try spending more time with people who don't want to fuck you?' He'd used to make fun of how much she liked being liked. But he wouldn't exactly get it, would he?

'Oh, yea?,' says Zayn, a bit lazy and mean, 'and how's that working out for you?'  
'...Was that an insult?' Perry says, dubiously. 'Ohhh, you're sayin'--like, cus Leigh-Anne doesn't want to fuck me, hahaha, I get it.'  
  
Zayn rolls her eyes. Like water off a duck's wings. On his end, she hears a loud pounding noise.  
'Oh, hey, Zayn, the girls are back,' he says. 'I'll talk to you later, yea?'  
'Sure, love you, bye,' she says, unthinking, then wincingly hangs up before he can respond.

Fuckin' Perry.

 

* * *

 

So Scotia's cool, Zayn supposes. For a girl named Scotia. Niall seems to like her well enough, anyway. They haven't hung out, just the two of them before, but it should be cool, right?  
'So, Scotia,' she says, following her into the cramped dressing room she shares with the rest of the band. They'd had a good night. Well, Zayn was a bit off. Not, like, musically, obviously she killed it; more like off, emotionally. And of course Harry's noticed. Not that Zayn noticed him noticing: she'd been not noticing him for the past week. It's for his own good, really. He should know better than to get off with strange girls in club bathrooms where anyone could see.  
  
'Zayn,' Scotia says, lightly, and whips her shirt off and tosses it on the couch. She's wearing a black bra. Her boobs are bigger than Zayn's. Not like--Zayn's not really looking, she just noticed.  
Scotia catches her staring, gives her a crooked smile and pulls a Stones shirt over her head.  
'So what's up, Zaynie?' she says, shoving things over on the couch and gesturing closer. Zayn dutifully sits down beside her. She smells like sweat and Garnier. It's nice.  
Zayn's--pretty sure Scotia doesn't want to fuck her. Like. She called her ' _Zaynie_ '.  
  
'I wondered,' she says, oddly fidgety, 'if we could, like. Hang out tonight or something?'  
Scotia gives her a slanted smile. 'Ummm, yea,' she says. 'I was just gonna chill in my room, is that cool?'  
Actually, Zayn kind of wanted to go out and get wasted but -- it's Scotia's show. She shrugs. 'Yea, sounds good. Do you want me to bring something?'  
'Uh, maybe some papers, if you have any? We should be good, though.' Zayn had actually meant, like, snacks or movies or something, but, yea, getting high does seem a more entertaining alternative.  
  
'Hey, so is this, like, part of that penalty thing?' Scotia asks, on their way up in the lift.  
Zayn actually feels embarrassed to hear it trotted out so casually. Which is stupid, because it's not, like, a thing. Well, it is a thing, obviously, but it's not, like, a _thing_.  
'Nah,' she says, forcing a laugh. 'Just wanted to get away from the boys for the night, you know.'  
'Sure, right, yea.' Scotia's arm has somehow ended up around her shoulder. She's probably just being friendly, Zayn thinks, then leans a bit closer anyway.

It'll be cool.  
  
Possibly she might have miscalculated, she thinks, untangling herself partially from Scotia's languid embrace, four hours later. Scotia gives her a shoulderblade kiss and a blurry 'g'bye', then rolls back over.  
They hadn't even been particularly high, she thinks, feeling vaguely betrayed by the universe.  
  
 _very likely a slag :(:(:(:(:(_ , she texts Doniya and Danny, on her way back to her room.  
Doniya responds six minutes later, even though it's -- 3 am and she's got a serious, adult job to get to in the morning. Probably up for fajr. _do nt let the pictures leave ur pho ne_ , she says, which is so insultingly uncreative Zayn doesn't even bother dignifying it with a response.  
Danny replies a full hour later, jolting her out of her doze. It's near 8 at his gran's. _ahhh bityaa you pain this old mans heart, how we find you husband now?_

 _..._ Everyone thinks they're a comedian.

 

* * *

 

She has the supermarket dream again. And it's raining when she wakes up. Fuckin' fuck.

Well, time to face the music, ha-ha-ha, she thinks, at breakfast two sleepless hours later.  
'Heya,' Niall says, when she plops down in Louis's seat beside him. 'Dja have fun with Scot?'  
'No! well. yes, actually,' she confesses. Niall looks scrunchily confused. 'Niall, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, it just kind of happened.'  
'What'dy mean,' Niall says slowly, looking even more scrunchily confused.  
'Scotia and I kind of,' she says, feeling awkward and guilty. 'Kind of'ed?'

Harry clears his throat for the third time since she's come in the room. Hopefully club girl didn't pass along a cold or anything.  
'Ok-ay,' Niall says, around the remaining third of his muffin. He swallows with some difficulty. 'Was it any good?'  
'Niall!' she says, slapping him on the arm. He laughs, tilts away from her hands, waits expectantly. 'It was fine,' Zayn admits, a bit grudgingly. There was a lot to be said for enthusiasm but, honestly, even club guy had given better head. Niall nods agreeably, doesn't press for more details. Doesn't say anything further at all, actually, just seems content to move onto his third muffin.  
  
'You really don't mind that I fucked her?' she says, surprised. If _Niall_ had fucked Harry when they were still on--well, that would've been weird, primarily. But it also would've been, kind of -- bad form.  
'Uhhh, well, Zayn, you kind of fuck everyone?' Niall says, then must see something on her face because he kind of awkwardly grabs at her wrist, snap back catching on his shoulder and falling to the table. 'I don't mean it in a bad way! I mean it in a--hey, wow, you're good with people, I guess?' A rousing defence, indeed.  
'Not hardly,' she huffs, rubbing the back of her neck. There's no hope if _Niall_ thinks she's a slag. 'M'just a pretty face.' _Who let a fisherman in my house?_ , she can hear her mum saying.  
'Za-yn,' chides Liam, from down the table. He can always sense when she's on a self-disparagement kick. It's practically a sixth sense of his. 'You're far more than a pretty face.'  
  
'Though you are very pretty,' Harry murmurs. He doesn't look up from the telly so he doesn't see notice her smile. Niall does, though, pulling her close for a quick kiss on her right cheek, leaving his arm around her shoulders. Bless. He's a good one, is Niall. She turns to the side and kisses his fingers.  
'Aw, look at you,' says Liam, cooing. He's so fucking embarrassing.  
  
Harry looks at her.  
  
'How pre-tty,' he says, slowly, in his stupid, drawly voice, while all three of them stare at her with open approval. Zayn feels--she feels--  
'What's pretty,' says Louis, coming back in the room with a half-peeled orange. He spots Zayn in his seat and stops short. 'Penalty!' he hollers, 'I call penalty! you stole my seat.'  
'I'll collect,' Harry says, calmly, but doesn't move from the couch.  
  
Come to think of it, she realises in the van, scrunched between Liam and Niall, Harry never collected his penalty from the other night.  
  
'Scot and I don't have no kinda arrangement,' Niall tells her, later, on their bathroom break. He's leaning against her heavily, partially because his blood sugar's low after sitting in place for so long, partially because it's drizzly outside and he gets cold easy.  
'Really?' Zayn says, angling her exhale away from him. He massages her right wrist gently, lets her tangle their fingers together. Both of their palms are smudgy with ink. 'So what do you do when you want to--you know, fuck around?'

'Emm,' says Niall, going a bit pink. 'Go on the pull like everyone else?' He snaps softly. 'Hey, give're.'  
Niall's a social smoker, meaning that if these pictures end up on the internet, everyone's going to accuse Zayn of corrupting him. Lucky no paps are allowed back here.  
'Really,' Niall says musingly, letting the smoke out through his nose. 'That's kinda just a--Harry and you thing, yea.'

 

* * *

 

The pictures leak. Harry collects a penalty on that, too.

Who hoards shit they're not apt to use? she thinks, watching Harry chat up a really fucking fit woman two nights later. Rich people and -- well, okay, probably actual hoarders. Whatever. It's not healthy, is the thing. And, and Harry should know that. She tips back another shot of pineapple haze. Purple haze? Somethin'. She licks her lips. Yea. She should tell him. For his health.  
'Goin' fast tonight, are we,' Niall says, half-way to drunk himself. 'Maybe let's slow down? Night's young still.'  
'Innit?' she laughs, and climbs over him -- 'Zay--oof, _Zayn_ , hey' -- out of the booth. She waves him off with a laugh, ignoring his blank face of disapproval. She's just going to whinge at Harry for a bit. Niall can bear to watch her purse till then, can't he?  Her plan fails her, however, about three bodies deep into the dance floor; her impractically lovely heels decide to trip her up. She stumbles spectacularly, knocking straight into Liam and a disgruntled man in thick eyeliner who looks ready to start shit. He must see Johnny hovering because he quickly turns back around.

'Alright, there, babe?' Liam murmurs, hands holding her tight at the waist. She nods, smiles gratefully, and tries to move past him. He keeps her close, though, pulls her flush against him. She peers at him closely: he's sweaty, looking a bit shaky himself.  
'Liam,' she says, gently, 'c'mon, love, not when you're drunk.'  
Liam's cheeks pink up. 'I'm not that drunk,' he protests, which would be insulting if anyone besides him had said it. True to form, he rushes to clarify: 'Not that I'd need to be drunk to-to, you know--'

'Fuck me around,' Zayn says, amused. 'Just drunk enough to keep me where you can see me, hm?'  
Liam shakes his head again. 'You had a--you'd a look on your face,' he says, thumbs slipping under her top. 'It was your -- mess with Harry's head face.'  
'I don't mess with Harry's head,' she says, trying to keep her voice level. They're kind of grinding against each other. She's not sure if Liam's noticed yet.  
'Course you do,' he breathes out, 'you've been in a sulk for days because he's been ignoring you.'

'I,' she hides her face in his neck. He smells like rum -- like, what _even_ , Liam -- and that shit cologne Andy keeps trying to push. 'I'm not in a sulk. And _I've_ been ignoring him.'  
'Right,' he says, hands sliding down to squeeze her bum. Mm, so he has noticed. 'That's why you were about to go cah, cockblock him, huh.'  
' _Da_ -ddy, don't be mean,' she says in his ear, just to watch him go red. He does. Ha. They'd had good fun, Liam and she.  
'I'm just saying,' he says, gruffly. The music's changed to a bass-heavy song she can feel in her teeth. 'He had all these expectations, you know, after you and Perry--'

What? Zayn pushes him back. 'What's Perry got to do with anything?' she says, a bit sharp. It's as though all the heat in the room has sunk into her face. God, she needs some water.

Liam looks well uncomfortable. 'Well, Zayn, I mean, you, you kind of cheated on him with Harry,' he says, all in a rush. 'Sort of.'  
'What do you,' she nearly bites her tongue, 'what are you--no, I didn't _cheat_ , we, we just had an arrangement.'  
'Yea, an arrangement where he didn't fuck anyone but you,' he says, staring firmly at her collarbone. 'And--you know I love you but I. I think you're being a bit selfish, honestly.'  
No, he's wrong. That's not--she and Harry, they hadn't--they hadn't been--  
  
but then.  
  
But then Harry had always kept her close when girls came up to him (because he didn't feel like pulling, she'd thought), always giving her an easy out when a guy got too handsy (because he was always nearby anyway), staying the night (well, he liked to cuddle), changing his name to 'Wifey' in her phone (jokester), spoiling her (friendly?), waking her up in the mornings (hmm), coaxing her out of her moods...  
  
Calling penalties over every little thing.  
  
Fuck.  
  
'Oh,' she tries to unswallow the pit in her stomach. Her mouth feels dry. Worse than a slag, then; she's a _cheat_. 'Oh.'  
'Aw, babes,' Liam says, and gives her a sloppy forehead kiss. Over his shoulder, Zayn can see the woman putting her hand on Harry's. 'S'okay. Just -- let him be for a bit, yea?'  
  
Okay. Okay, so.  
  
So now she just--has to back off. Lucky they go on break tomorrow, she wouldn't know how to face any of them otherwise.  
  
Louis must sense she wants space rather immediately, however, because he spends the rest of the night trying to get her to start a mosh pit with him in the middle of the dance floor. It's fun. And if she has to slip outside for a cig or four, what does that matter? Long as she keeps away from Harry. So she doesn't watch the woman scribbling something on his hand, she doesn't sit in his lap in the van, she doesn't fall all over him when they're the last ones walking down the hotel hallway.  
  
If she can get through LF golden, she can fucking well get through this.  
  
'So that woman you were talking to back there,' she says, casually, after they've said goodnight to the other lads. It's not anything; she's just showing some _friendly_ interest in her bandmate's personal life. 'She looked nice.' Harry hums. 'What was her name?'  
'Um, Soraya,' Harry says, bumping her hip with his. 'In town for a conference. Orthodontics, I think.'  
That doesn't sound very interesting. 'Hmm,' Zayn says, watching her feet so she doesn't stumble. Fuckin' heels. 'You should call her.'  
  
Harry moves closer so she can steady herself on him. 'How'd you know I got her number,' he says, right near her ear. This is the closest they've been in--a week? Has it really been a week? Too long to be playing games with him, anyway.  
  
'Well, you're you,' she says, pulling off of him with smile. They're at her door; a matter of metres separate her from sleep. 'And I saw her give it to you, actually.'  
Harry's still behind her. 'She didn't give me her number,' he says. 'She gave me her room number.'  
  
Zayn stops ruffling through her purse. What was she--what was she looking for again? 'She's staying here, actually,' Harry adds.  
'Oh,' says Zayn, staring hard at her door. She really wants to be inside right now. Why won't it just open?  
Her keycard. Right. 'Well, it's early, still. You should, ah.' She can feel his breath on her neck. Where the fuck is it? She dumps her purse out on the floor, crouches down to sift through the mess. She feels dizzy, as though one touch could send her sprawling. 'Go on then,' she says, not looking at him as she shoves half her shit back inside. Why'd she bring three fucking packs of gum?  She lifts up her wallet -- her mum's old pleather one -- and abruptly remembers that she'd put her card in her jacket side pocket.  
  
'Probably in your pocket,' Harry murmurs, still not moving.  
  
He does know her well.  
  
'Yea,' she says, and swallows. Fuck. She's thirsty. She opens her mouth to laugh, say goodnight again: 'Haz, I'm. I'm sorry, okay?'  
Harry doesn't move or say anything for a moment. Then he drops to his knees in her line of sight, flops over sideways with an appletini-scented 'oof'. Him and his girly drinks, she thinks fondly. She gives her ankles a break and sits backward onto the floor, scooting the tiniest bit away from him.  
  
'Alright,' he says, with a wry smile. 'What're you sorry for, then?'  
'F'not pengtion,' she says. Whoops. Yea, let's try that again. 'For not paying attention. For bein' selfish.'  
Harry actually rolls his eyes.  
'What?' she says, trying not to scowl. She doesn't exactly have room to get really angry here; still, that's no excuse to be a little shit. ' _What_.'  
'Rather full of it, aren't you,' he says, grinning wide.  
  
'Oh, yea, I'm trying to apologise for sending mixed signals, how dare me,' she says. No, should it be -- 'how dare I'? 'How do I dare'? 'How dare'--fuck it, she's drunk.  
'Yea, right after you told me to go fuck someone else,' he says, slowly twirling her MSG keychain on the carpet. 'Or did you mean that.'  
Zayn watches his index finger spinning round and round. She can feel him staring at her. 'I meant it enough,' she admits, finally. 'I wouldn't--I wouldn't yell at you or anything.'  
  
'No, you'd just ignore me for another week,' Harry says, laughing quietly as he drops her keychain into her purse. This isn't funny.  
'Why are you laughing,' she says, biting back a smile. God, she's such a mess. 'It's not like--this is, like, the worst take on casual, seriously.'  
'You think? Never meant it to be,' Harry says, offhand, like 'casual' wasn't the exact term he'd used when he'd introduced the idea of an 'arrangement' to her.  
  
She leans back against the door, staring at her heels. Dark purple, silver-tipped. The first pair of really nice shoes she could afford. 'That's not what you said before,' she says quietly, too drunk to be proper shocked.

Harry shrugs, scooting forward until he's leaning against the wall beside her. 'You'd've just whinged about Perry all tour if I hadn't done anything.'  
'I don't whinge,' she mutters, a bit too tired to shout at him. Who knew he'd been trying to sabotage her relationship? Well. Perry, probably. Explained why he hadn't liked Harry all that much, at the time.  
  
'Complain very hornily, then,' he says, moving the purse until there's nothing between them but their clothing. She puts her head on his shoulder; he leans his enormous head against hers. 'Well. Sorry for lying, either way.' She can feel her heart beating in the hollow of her ear.  
'S'okay,' she whispers.  
'It was a good arrangement though, wasn't it?' He's speaking very low, very quiet. Oh, right, Paula might still be up.  
'Mm, besides the fact that we've not been very fair with each other?' She feels warm. Drowsy. His hand is cool against her thigh. 'I'was great.'  
Harry moves his hand atop hers, brings their palms together. Zayn sighs, leaning into him more fully. It's not particularly comfortable, as far as sitting positions are concerned, but she'll take it. She opens her eyes half-way, looks down at their hands. She can see half of a smudged 8 peeking from the side of his palm.  
  
'If I asked you not to go,' she says, 'that'd probably be veh. veh. umm, proper selfish of me.'  
'Probably,' Harry agrees, squeezing her hand once. 'Wouldn't, anyway.'  
'Right,' she mumbles, hardly moving her lips. Her eyelids are a liquid drag downwards. No, she can't fall asleep yet, she has to--has to tell him-- 'Harry,' she says, urgently.

Harry lifts his head a little and turns his face into her neck. 'Hm?'  
'Don't go,' he's so warm and solid and Soraya wouldn't know what to do with all the weird shit he's into, really, and, 'just dun'go.'  
'Zayn? Hey, hey, Zayn, don't fall asleep out here,' Harry's saying, 'Za--'

She's in the supermarket again.

Everyone's gone. She can't even hear her dad's footsteps this time. There's just half-filled carts turned aside, yellow lights afar flickering and turning off, aisle by aisle. A shudder of fear overtakes her as her back hits the zucchini tray. Doniya should've found her by now. The darkness opens in front of her like a gaping--  
  
'--m down, you're okay,' says someone, and she can feel the phantom touch of someone shaking her, even though there's no one else--  
  
oh.  She's asleep.  
  
Of course. This isn't a memory, this is--this is just a dream. She breathes in sharply: smells like Harry's L'oreal shit. She slits her eyes open and blearily takes in the darkness of her surroundings, heart still ricocheting in her chest. Yea, yea. Those are Harry's clothes, tossed all over the floor - as if they've been at this hotel for a month, rather than two days. No need to panic, those are his acne meds on the bedside table, his wristlet from Nick, his worn photo of Gem and his mum.  
  
And then, of course, there's Harry himself. Half-raised up, leaning on his arm. Naked, predictably. Zayn can see the outline of his cock beneath the covers.  
  
She licks her lips, dry-mouthed. Her head's a dull pounding throb in her eyes and neck. 'Did I wake you up?' she whispers.  
Harry shrugs. 'Getting elbowed in the face usually does,' he says, as a joke perhaps, but he doesn't look particularly amused. Oops.  
'Should I get you some i-i-ihe?' she yawns. She brings her hand up to his face, even though that's not great for his pores or whatever, tilting his face to see where she'd hurt him. He probably took a shower before coming to bed. Even though he was tired, he probably went to the hassle of combing his hair, brushing his teeth, taking off his clothes. And dragging her arse to bed, beside. Her hair's sticking to the side of her of face and the corners of her mouth feel greasy. What a catch, as Doniya would say.  
  
'No,' he says, gently pushing her hand down. 'Did you've that dream again?'  
She shrugs, suddenly embarrassed. It's not as though this is the very first time she's woken him up with it. Still - it's different now.  
'Don't worry about it,' she says, pushing him back into the covers. He goes easily enough, staring up at her. 'Go back to sleep.'  
He lifts one shoulder in reply, eyes focused below her nose. They stare at each other, holding their breath.  
  
He's going to kiss her - she realises it just a moment before he does.  
  
Her breath probably tastes rank; she lets him in anyway. 'Sorry,' she whispers, when they part for air, 'sorry, sorry.'  
He grins sleepily. 'No apology necessary,' he says, and leans up to kiss her again. He rests his hand on her hip but doesn't squeeze - tentative, like when they'd first started. 'Kind of like calling a penalty,' he'd said, staring hard at her shoulder, 'it'd just be a casual...mutually beneficial arrangement brought about by--laziness and horniness. Easy.'  
  
She leans back, away from the memory, looks down at him, the hollows under his eyes, the very faint stubble on his upper lip, the pimple that's starting to form on his forehead. And then keeps her hands very still when he darts up and collects his third - and final - penalty.

 

* * *

 

And then they're on break for four days. So. It's--good.

Zayn goes straight to Ant's place from the airport, ignoring half of Louis's texts and all of Liam's calls. Niall leaves her a voicemail that she listens to three times in the cab over. 'Good t'be home an' all,' he says, at the end, sounding very loose and tired after his long flight, 'but I'll miss you, hey? See ya.'  
  
Harry doesn't text or call or anything. Well, not that he does, usually. Nick and that lot can be very--demanding.  
  
Whatever. It's not her business.  
  
Ant lets her sleep and mope in bed all the first day. Which is great, as she has several months' worth of sleeplessness to make up for.  
  
The next day, though, Ant forces her to wash up and eat food. Proper human stuff.  
  
They stand outside in the watery sunshine, watching Boris huff all over the yard. Course he pisses on all the flowerbeds, the little shit.  
'Where's Danny,' Zayn asks, nervously. Ant gives her a look that says she's not shit.  
'Right,' she sighs, 'right, he's in New York, you told me already. Swear he's avoiding me.' She flicks her cigarette to the ground and squelches it into the mud, fighting the urge to light another one just to have something to do with her hands. She's only got two left, anyway.  
Ant slips her arm through Zayn's, drags her into a sedate walk. The mud squishes up through Zayn's chappals, ugh. 'Do you remember...Thomas Meikle?'  
  
'Who?' says Zayn blankly. She and Danny'd broken his fucking car windows in, of course she remembers him. Ant gives her another 'you're not shit' look.  
'Oh, d'ya mean _Tommy_ Meikle?' Zayn says, holding back a smile. 'Va-a-aguely. Why?'  
'Remember how, after he threw me over for Jassi, I kind of,' Ant flips her hair back with a small smile, 'went a bit mad for a while there?'  
Zayn doesn't say anything. She doesn't like thinking about how scared she'd been, how helpless they'd all felt, watching Ant.  
  
'And you were there for me,' Ant says, dragging Zayn forward once she realises where all this is going and physically halts, 'when you could've just-- left me alone.'  
'Well. Not like you wouldn't do the same,' Zayn grumbles. Either Ant's enjoying her Psych courses way too much or Zayn's too pathetic to be ignored.  
'I _would_ do the same,' says Ant, 'so, c'mon, then. No need to be brave with me, Ms Big Time Singer.'  
'Who's bein' brave?' she says, grateful that Boris starts barking at a bird so she has something to focus on besides not crying. 'Perry and I broke up forever ago.'  
  
'One month is not forever ago,' says Ant, squeezing her upper arm, 'and I'm talking about Harry.'  
Zayn swallows the urge to say 'it's not like that,' as she's done so often in the past. 'I dunno,' she admits, finally. 'I just feel really dumb. Like -- transparent? Like everyone could see this really obvious thing. Except for me.' She shrugs. ''s stupid.'

They watch Boris hop in and out of a rather deep puddle of rainwater beside the deck. He freezes when he sees them watching, quickly turns around before continuing.  
'You're sort of lucky, you know,' Ant says, after an amused pause.  
'Lucky?' Zayn repeats, feeling light raindrops through her hood. 'Do tell, Doctor.'  
'Yea, well,' Ant says, mouth a downward slant, 'Harry's probably scared, too, is all.' Then she whistles for Boris and the rain starts to come down in earnest.

 

* * *

 

Who's afraid of Harry Styles? No one worth shit, probably.

 

* * *

 

They drive down to see her family that afternoon. Thankfully the rain's cleared up by then, so they make good time, arriving right after isha.  
In their old home, just two people in the doorway was cause for cramped hugs. The new house, meanwhile, echoes hugely around them. They're still getting settled in.   
Waliyha's pinned up the little flag Niall sent her on her bedroom wall and has taken to muttering 'no surrender' everytime Cameron's so much as mentioned on the telly. (Zayn...worries about her sometimes.)  
  
As she and Safaa set the table, her mum tells her about taking up zumba with the local snobs -- 'they're not as bad as I thought, really'- and tries to get her to promise to come next time. No way in hell, thinks Zayn, but promises to think it over.  
Her dad's got a different haircut than usual because Safaa tried to give him bangs in his sleep. 'I think I look very distinguished,' he says, clearly chuffed, and spoons a third of his spaghetti bolognese onto Zayn's plate when she agrees.  
  
Doniya and her super holy girlfriend make an appearance just after dinner, alhamdulillah'ing over pre-bought rasgulla. They all crowd onto the couch, watching the telly until Waliyha passes out. It is a school night, technically, even though it feels like being on holiday, a bit. After that the spell's broken, though, and it's all quietly cheek-kissing out from under each other. Ant throws Waliyha over her back, Safaa whispering urgently after her as they go upstairs. Zayn sees Doniya and S.H.G. out, quietly pausing on the landing to watch her parents leaning against each other in the middle of an empty couch.  
  
Nothing quite like being home, she thinks, emptily, looking around her mostly brand new room, much later. It's weird - she wants break to be over so she can see the lads again. But here she is, digging her fingernails into her thighs so she won't fall asleep and wake up to only 48 more hours. Or - less than that by now, she thinks, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. Beside her, Ant snorts in her sleep, rolls over and pulls more of the covers onto herself.  
  
Zayn looks at her with a small twinge; wonders how much longer she'll be like this - caught between two families.  
  
The door creaks.  
  
Zayn can't really see well in the darkness without her glasses but the green nightie's a dead giveaway. 'C'mon, then, Saf,' she says, smiling. Safaa tiptoes  all the way to the bed before leaping onto the end, scrambling up between her and Ant. Safaa's sort of like how Zayn was when she was younger, before LF -- sweet and a bit shy at first, loud as hell after awhile.  
'Missed you,' Safaa whispers sleepily, barely audible under Ant's vociferous snoring, 'Missed you lots.'  
Zayn's heart clenches and she kisses Safaa on the nose. 'Meri be-e-han,' she clucks, stroking her hair back. Ant makes a noise in her sleep.  
  
Zayn and Safaa freeze before breaking into quiet laughter. Zayn shushes Safaa after a while, adopting a voice like Auntie Fahmida: 'Hey, naughty-naughty, no more talkin', oh-keh? Now kiss.' Safaa giggles and kisses her cheek, lids drooping. 'Oh-keh, gut'night, gut'night.'  
'G'night,' Safaa murmurs, drifting off with a smile.  
  
'My love, my heart, is breathing for this,' Zayn sings quietly, tunelessly, and unclenches her hands with a sigh.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, in the cab on the way to the airport, she gives in and texts Perry. _u wr rite_ , she texts; _im soup story! :(_

She stares blearily at the screen for a few minutes before her brain pulls itself out of the fog of hungovery - _soup story_? Ugh. Foiled by inconsistent autocorrect, yet again. _*so sorry. fr brkng ur trust_  
  
He'd said--Perry'd said...'I feel like I can't trust you anymore.' And she'd been so hurt she'd let him let it drag them further apart. But now she could see--like, if Leigh-Anne had been pretty obviously trying to break them up and he'd just been _letting_ her, saying it wasn't a big deal the whole time, she wouldn't have felt like she could trust him either. Zayn hopes Leigh-Anne'll iron out his too-forgiving nature. She'll certainly never have the opportunity to do so again.  
  
 _no worries =)_ , replies Perry, right as she's checking her luggage. _talk to you soon =)_  
  
She is rather lucky, after all.

 

* * *

 

Either because Harry mentioned something or because Zayn's projecting very loudly, the other lads don't call penalties anymore. Liam almost does, once, by accident, and then Niall coughs obviously and tells the dimly amusing story of Sean's eleventh birthday yet again.  
  
'You don't exactly need it anymore,' Louis says, flopping against her in the break room, when she casually brings it up. 'Unless you're saying you stiw feew weft owt?'  
Zayn grimaces, and lets his embarrassing impression be its own punishment.  
'Aw, don't be cross,' says Louis, unembarrassed. Should've known he was shameless. ' _I'll_ always love you best.'  
'Oh, will you?' says Zayn, less sarcastic than she means to.  
'Course I will, you numpty,' he says, softly, and gives her a great big smacking kiss on the cheek. Good ol' Lou.

 

* * *

 

On stage three nights later, some idiot throws a pair of trainers at her feet.

 _4 a good ki k in the ars e_ , say the bottoms, in red. The guy who'd thrown them is wearing a ridiculous purple wig. He winks outrageously, blows her a kiss. Fuckin' prick. Zayn rolls her eyes, tosses the shoes to Ibrahim and works her way to the opposite end of the stage, where she can see a huge paper mache version of her face.

Their fans are, uh, really dedicated, she thinks, not for the first time. She slings her arm around Niall, doubling his solo off-mic. Niall cuts himself off at the final note, shoving his mic in her face so they hear her instead of him. She closes her eyes against the wave of hysteria that rolls through the crowd and just sings.  
  
'Wow,' says Louis, when Mikey hits the snare for the last time, 'that was absolutely gorgeous.' ('Zouis es verdadero!' someone shouts, unexpectedly.)  
'I think I might be crying a little,' adds Liam, dabbing his eyes with his shirt, 'so how about another round of applause for Mr Niall Horan--' Niall does a bizarre crumping thrust '--uh, and our girl Friday, Saturday, and Sunday - Ms! Zayn! Mali-i-ik!'  
Zayn flushes, goes for a bow, then changes it into an awkward curtsy half-way through, nearly losing her balance in the meantime. Harry mimics her curtsy with plenty of unnecessary shoulder movements -- as if he's any more graceful -- then throws his head back laughing when she flips him off.  
  
She stares at the tendons in his neck, stomach flip-flopping, wondering if this is what it'd been like for him - watching and wanting and not knowing how to ask in any real way.  
  
Ugh.  
  
She quickly goes back to the other side of the stage to wait for her solo, ignoring his eyes on the back of her neck. Show must go on and all that.  
  
'Good kick in the arse, hm,' she mutters, later that night, when Harry leaves the club early with two women hanging off his neck.  
  
Good for him, really, she thinks, going back to her room alone. Least one of them's getting laid.

 

* * *

 

'So DM says you're up a vow of celibacy,' says Danny, two weeks later, the morning of his match.  
Zayn rolls her eyes, tapping her boot against the windowsill. 'Don't believe everything you read, bro.'  
'Well, I don't believe anythin' I read, actually,' he says, ''s why I'm askin' you.' Ant says something on the other end. 'Oh, Ant says to say hullo, uhh. And that you're fucked.'  
  
'Tell her I said "same to you, thanks",' Zayn says dryly, turning her head away for a sneeze as Danny repeats her. Through the windowscreen, she can see Niall down on the tennis court, trying to give Liam a piggyback ride. Louis's on the phone with his dad, by the bow of his shoulders. A tree's blocking Harry's upper-half so she can't see him. ''m not on a vow of celibacy. I'm just -- figuring some things out.'  
'Sex things?' Danny presses. Something metallic sounding clangs hollowly on his end. He's probably stress cooking again. 'Sounds like a sex thing.'  
  
'Sort of,' she concedes absently, getting to her feet. She just wants to see -- 'more, takin' a breather. You know. Like, to concentrate better.'  
'Oh. Cuttin' out distractions, like,' Danny says, just as she leans over the table for a better view. Ah, _there's_ Harry, shaking his hair out of his eyes. He turns before she can duck, sees her looking. Waves.

'Something like that,' she murmurs, heat creeping up her neck as she waves back.

Fuckin' Harry.

 

* * *

 

Their night off falls on a Wednesday this week. They're all crowded together in Louis's room, Niall and Scotia passing a joint back and forth on the bed and looking quite cozy, Louis and Liam squashed into the armchair in front of the telly, Harry taking up the entire couch because he's a selfish fuck. Her, sitting on the floor in front of him.  
  
They're watching a shit procedural, Murder something or other. Zayn's not entirely sure what's going on; all she knows is that there's enough Yorkies to open a kennel.  
'Gev it tu meh,' says one mug-faced man to another. Niall whispers something kind-of'ly in Scotia's ear. The rest of them politely pretend not to hear.  
'Shoowah,' says the other mug-faced man and that's the last thing Zayn remembers before Harry starts playing with her hair.  
  
They haven't touched again since that night, choosing to instead just -- navegate around each other. And now, Harry's curling his fingers in the soft hair at the back of her head, gently kneading her scalp. That feels--that feels--  
  
Scotia falls off the bed with a thump. 'Oh my god,' she's laughing so hard her face is entirely red. Niall doesn't look much better. 'Oh my _god_.'  
  
Zayn blinks up at Harry, realises she's tilted her head all the way back. Harry crinkles his eyes. Fuck.  
  
'Alright there?' Liam asks, dragging his eyes away from the screen. Scotia just keeps laughing. Quality stuff, apparently.  
  
Zayn leaps up, pats her pocket, doesn't look at Harry. 'Need a smoke,' she says roughly, mussing Louis's hair on her way out. He glances up from his phone with an absent leer. El being cheeky, then.  
'It's miserable out there,' says Liam, glancing at Scotia, then at the tv, then at her. 'Don't forget your jacket!'  
'Alright, then, mum,' Zayn says, waving him off, and accidentally catches Harry's eye right before she slips out the door.  
  
It _is_ miserable outside - her fingers are pinched and shaking by the third time she tries to light her cigarette. The last thing she needs is to catch a cold again.  
'Fuck,' she hisses, when she almost drops her lighter.  
'Need help with that?' muffles a voice, from behind her. She turns - Harry's done up proper with his peacoat and scarf-blanket, looking very Lifestyles of the Rich  & Famous.  
  
'Yea,' she says, rocking back on her heels, 'please.' He pulls off his right glove with his teeth, takes the lighter from her. Cups her chin still.  
'There we go,' he murmurs, staring at her mouth when it lights. The smoke goes up between them. Zayn sucks it in for as long as she can to preserve the moment - but then she hiccoughs a little, and Harry hands the lighter back with a blank smile.  
'Thanks,' she wheezes, bouncing up and down on her boots. 'Ah, 'id'ya need some fresh air?'  
  
Harry makes a vague noise of assent. 'Something like that,' he says. 'Here, come under with me.' He opens up his scarf-blanket so it fully covers their outer shoulders. Smells like L'oreal, pot and Nick Grimshaw. Lovely.  
'Thanks,' she says again, switching to her left hand.  
  
They huddle together in silence, warm all along where their sides touch. 'Think it'll snow?' she asks, finally, for lack of anything better to say.  
Harry lets out a small sigh. 'Nah,' he says. 'S'too cold.' Then, shaking off the ash that drips on his right trainer, adds: 'I miss you, y'know.'  
Huh. 'What d'you mean?' she says, fighting off a shiver. 'M'right here, babe.'  
'Not exactly ideal conditions for fucking though,' he says, wistfully, and lets out a huge white cloud of breath.  
  
'You could fuck anyone, though,' she says, glad her face is probably already reddened with cold. 'Matter of fact, you still have Soraya's number?'  
Harry scrunches up his face. 'Who?'  
'Soraya? Dentist?' A tiny shake of the head. 'Big smile, bigger rack?'  
  
A beat of silence. Then Harry's face warms, in puzzlement if not recognition. 'Zayn, that was--forever ago. I somehow doubt she's been staying in the same hotel room since then.' His grin widens. 'And she was an orthodontist.'  
Zayn shrugs. Same area of expertise; she couldn't care less. When she gives up on her cigarette and drops it, Harry takes the opportunity to wrap the scarf-blanket around them fully, so they're standing toe-to-toe.  
'Anyway,' he says, in the wary hush that follows, 'I thought you were done sending mixed signals?'  
  
'Who's sending mixed signals?' Zayn says mulishly. She can feel the echo of a cough starting in the back of her throat and it's making her cross. 'I want you to fuck who you like.' 'Whom'? 'Who'? Whom even cared.  
'Well,' Harry says, and tilts his forehead against hers, 'I'd rather like to fuck you, actually.'  
Her chest feels fever-tight. 'I'd rather not be convenient,' she says, and is thankful for the wave of coughs that prevents them both from speaking.  
'Alright, we're going inside,' he says, firmly, and more or less drags her back through the broken emergency exit door. The scarf-blanket slips from her shoulders. When they separate, the gap between them is cold. The hallway light shines shakily, flickering audibly in the silence.

She leans against the wall; opposite her, he mimics her posture. If he reached out his arm, he could touch her, she thinks. He doesn't.  
  
'The thing is,' he says, very slowly, 'I do like convenience. Only - you're not very convenient at all.'

Zayn blinks, surprised. She wasn't expecting that. 'I,' she clears her throat, 'I'm not?'

'Hm, well, let's see,' says Harry, counting off on his fingers, 'you always cockblock me when we go out, recent events notwithstanding. You use me as a human shield every time some guy gets too cheeky when you know I can't fight. Umm. You never want to cuddle. You laugh at everything besides my jokes--' 'Your jokes aren't very good, though,' she mumbles, pushing herself off the wall '-- 'you're demanding' -- 'I am not!' -- ' _extremely_ demanding.' He pauses, looks up at the light instead of at her moving foward. 'And you kick me whenever I try to wake you up.' He swallows when she places her leg between his. 'You're rather difficult, actually.'  
  
'Difficult, huh,' she says, watching him tilt his hips forward. She stills them with one hand. 'Only - someone close to me called me easy once. And I've been a little paranoid ever since.'

'Well, that was rather rotten of them,' he whispers, awkwardly tilting his head down so she can tug at his hair. She doesn't quite know what she's doing. He's letting her, either way.  
  
'You know what?,' she says, watching the flush travel up his neck, 'they were probably just projecting.'

Harry grins, wide. 'Wouldn't doubt it,' he says, and the lights turn off completely when they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I. I changed the entire premise and nothing makes sense _shhhhh_  
>  II. Title taken from [Solange's "Some Things Never Seem To Fucking Work".](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkjqudulJTw)  
> III. LF is Lower Fields Primary School, one of the schools Zayn seems to've gotten bullied at  
> IV. No, Harry was not meant to come off as some Nice Guy creep  
> V. Zayn doesn't even get one on-screen orgasm :(  
> VI. songfic :( :(  
> VII. If you read this on tumblr, you'll notice some minor changes. Namely - me changing the entire premise and nothing making sense _shhhhh_


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